If I were to weave a web of devious nature,
How many little flies would I catch?

Were the same web weaved of enlightenment,
Would I catch the same number in butterflies?

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Ring a state of being

Heaven forbid you fear losing it, using it all up, being without.
How silly.
Don’t you know it’s all just a dial tone?
That you can reach any of it at any time?
Access the frequency.
We’re all given the tonal directory, you delightful fool.
Just dial the number.

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switch on

Pulsating nutrients up root like connectors,
The electrical current feeds my wildest desires.
Tucked away inside an erratic heart,
There beats a culmination of ideas and notions.
Purged from outside the self, into the self like a wandering gale force wind,
I see it all, I sense it occurring.
Ah the latest transition a honing process; a smelting into usefulness from modest pieces of nothing..
Duly noted, duly noted.

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You seek my eyes baring a heartfelt show of your love and joy to be near me, your mama.

I pull you immediately into my arms, cooing at your gift, my sweet boy.

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Fled my being.

Only to find itself
Floating through a cosmic nether.

Pulsating etheric dust.
Lightening plasmic shocks.
To my..

What happened?
Opening my returned eyes to an awakened state I view not where I am at,
But where I came from..

This was her.
This was, I?


What little did I know of it all then.
How playful were my states.
Innocent and naive.

The cup I filled has been broken.

My pen can now ink across dimensions.
There is no visible boundary to my thought.
No boundary to the experience and
The Void, that I may draw from.

Muscle memory flits a coy smile across a face slightly older.
There is no end to the contents flowing from this gash that once contained my ego.

Allow me to simply reach into my skull..
Past the idea that is me.
Allow me to pick a flower for you from in there,
Beyond there.

Ah what light!
Do you see the dances we can dance?
The plays we could jest?

I welcome me to me,
And oh how I welcome me to you.

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The daemon

For a fleeting moment, I had a voice.
It called out from a space and time unknown to me..
Through me, beyond me.
Fluctuating tonal combinations that resonated with the masses..
Expressing experiences my conscious thoughts could only guess at.
Incomprehensible, and yet, believed.
With grace I received the presence of words beyond my own, and now?
Perhaps the recognition of an old friend within myself.
The poet, the muse, the mystic, the seer.
How many times have I danced to this tune?
How many lives lived in mated pairing with the illusive genius of the fates?
Accepting the magic that swirls through the cells that my form embodies,
I broach the realization that I am both the artist and the daemon.

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The snow before a new spring

Flake by flake,
A heavy cold mound
Forms atop my garden.

Temporary warm ups
Melt layers,
Before quickly icing over..

A hardened dense shell.

Flake by flake.
Flake by flake.

Flake by flake..

I eat a preserve.
Something spicy,
Something colorful,
Something from a memory..

I despair through bites,

And yet..

I am grateful for the capsule.
Surely even the longest winters end?

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